The Girl with the Undead Pet
by mailroomy
Summary: sometimes a wand may be easier to hide under skirts and blouses; but other times, a big gun remains desirable. or, A Hellsing in Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

**August 1998**

Minerva McGonagall stood by a charred portion of the castle's gate, watching a carriage appearing from behind the horizon. Behind her, and around her, Hogwarts was rebuilding itself. Not quite as speedy and miraculous as a Phoenix rising from the ashes; but slow and painstaking, as slow as magic burdened by exhaustion and sadness would allow. There were flashes of defiance in the face of adversity, but wounds were still too raw, and the damage too extensive for anyone to be completely unmoved.

She doubted this Hogwarts looked much better than the ruins the Muggles would see.

The carriage was no longer a speck of black in the distance, and soon it halted in front of her. The thestrals were dark and solid in her vision, and one looked her straight in the eye. The door opened and the sole occupant stepped out to greet her.

"Professor!" the girl exclaimed, hurrying over as much as dignity would allow.

"Well, look at you, lass," Professor McGonagall greeted warmly. "Welcome back, Miss Hellsing."

"It is Sir Integra now," came the answer. "But I suppose..."

"_Och_, don't worry your head about it. We've all came a long way since. We're not the same as we were, I doubt," Minerva said as she led her former student up to the castle. "I don't suppose you're here to take up what you've left off?"

"No, oh nothing like that, I'm sure," Integra said, watching a wizard deftly closing up patches of gouged earth along the path.

"But of course," Minerva replied, as she cast a silent _reparo_ at a pot of flowers one elf accidentally dropped.

The war against Voldemort (or Tom Riddle, or the many creative monikers people gave, now that they were no longer frightened) and his Death Eaters had stretched the barriers between the wizarding and muggle worlds. More magical creatures found their way to the other side, not all of them harmless, and many of them used to be part of Riddle's forces now scattered and completely displeased.

They walked inside the caste in silence. It had been years since Integra was a student here, before she left for her summer holidays and did not return to sit her fourth year, but everything seemed oddly familiar. Even with pockmarked walls, charred flagstones, and slightly pale shadows on a wall that used to hold a portrait or two.

"How are you, Professor?" Integra asked, as they passed the Great Hall; house elves, wizards and witches scurrying around the room that looked like a gaping hole devoid of almost anything she recognised. "I heard you're Headmistress, now. After... you know," she made a small gesture even as she noticed Minerva had stiffened slightly.

"As fine as any of us could be, I suppose. And how are you? You were such a wee, bonnie lass back then."

"Sometimes I forgot what it was ever like," Integra replied, suddenly subdued as she reached out to touch a particularly harsh scar on a far wall.

Minerva sighed heavily as she led them forward, up the stairs and into her office. Some days she'd forget what life was like prior to these few years, so many things happening at once, life and death in one huge whirlwind that left her drained most times.

"Is... Is Professor Flitwick still, you know, around? Professor Sprout?" Integra asked as she took the proferred seat in front of the Professor's cluttered desk (scrolls of things to do, building plans, maps and Merlin knows what else). She resolutely avoided looking at the portraits on the wall, feeling slightly uneasy. She ought not to feel this way really, not when she'd spent her life living the odd life, being born a Hellsing, having been a student here for all of three years... and recently, having lived with an irritating vampire.

"Indeed they are," Minerva answered, as she summoned tea things onto her desk. "You were sorted Ravenclaw, weren't you?"

"I suppose so," she replied, smiling slightly at a resurfacing memory. She had forgotten much about her days here, she found, then surprising herself by knowing that she wouldn't mind reliving the nicer ones while she's here.

* * *

_...tbc_

End Note  
Well, just an odd story that came up almost out of nowhere. Not sure about where the plot's going or anything, but then I'm always clueless like that. What I know is that I'm playing with timelines a bit, a lot of suppositions and stuff.

This happens in 1998, not long after V-Day. Millennium won't be a serious threat for another year (From what I'm able to glean from the mangas, it'll only start somewhere mid-1999). Integra is 22 in 1998 (counting back from her being 13 in 1989 when her dad passed away -well the manga said she's 12 in 1989, but I chose to use her TV-series/OAV age to give her more school time in Hogwarts; although the storyline will follow the manga more closely).

So that means, she started her 1st year at Hogwarts in 1987. Her father passed away in the summer before her 4th year, and she elected not to return to Hogwarts following that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summer 1987**

She didn't know how long she'd stood by the window, staring outside until sunspots blinded her eyes. When she turned around to face her father once more, the room seemed to have plunged into darkness. "I suppose saying 'no' to the Queen is out of the question, then, father?"

A Hellsing shouldn't sulk, she knew. But it's not very fair, really. She'd been looking forward to starting secondary school with Mary and Alasdair, John and Elizabeth and...

"It won't be so bad," her father said, interrupting her mental roll-call, collecting her into a loose hug. "You'll make new friends, and you can still maintain correspondence with your friends."

"It won't be the same!"

"Think of it as a challenge. You've never backed down from a challenge before."

"But what would I learn there?" she asked, sniffing inelegantly. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." she tested the words on her tongue. She found she didn't like the notion of it one bit. "Magic. I suppose I'll need to have a wand, too, even though I can't do one whit of magic."

"I'm sure there are things that you can do," Arthur Hellsing said, as he took the letter and read off it. "The Queen wouldn't have insisted if she thought the school entirely inappropriate."

"Well, who knew what she thought. She's quite barmy sometimes."

"Hush now, no more of that," Arthur admonished her lightly. "I'm sure something has been arranged for you."

"I still don't understand why... I mean..."

"Ah," Arthur said, smiling fondly down at his headstrong daughter. "Why don't you give it a try, see how it goes?"

A school of magic. She supposed she could try. She hoped it wouldn't be terrible. Would it really be different from hunting vampires for a living? Hopefully there would be vampires at the school she can practice her hunting skills on. She wondered whether it would be allowed.

* * *

**September 1987**

She sat next to her father in the car, parked on a roadside, looking outside the window at a pile of ruins in a distance. "Such a run-down school," she sighed, folding her hands on one of the textbooks provided by this purported school of magic. Books and pamphlets had arrived gradually over the summer by owl. Great carrier owls that shed like an avenging angel all over her father's library. She had looked through the materials and found that she could maybe stand rune lessons, astronomy, and arithmancy. It couldn't be worse than all the occult lessons she received back at Hellsing manor.

She had also wondered about herbology and dreamt of unicorns. She was still neither here nor there about history of magic. She was less pleased about learning the vocabulary of the wizarding world. Squibs and muggles. Didn't sound quite pleasant to her, really. She guessed she'd be a muggle. Divination reminded her of a certain wild-eyed, unwashed woman she saw at a village fête some years ago. She wondered if Potions would be like cooking, something she's terribly dreadful at. Transfiguration and Charms sounded impossible without magic, so she doubted she'd ever willingly sit in any of those classes.

What little she'd read between then and now couldn't quite change her mind about Hogwarts, despite her father making enthusiastic sounds every so often when reading through the literatures with her. Moreover, one of the manor's two poplar trees had keeled over one day, "out of old age," the arborist assured her, and Walter had gleefully fashioned a handsome looking wand. Although she doubted she it would allow her to sprout magic overnight. Still, she brought it along with her out of whimsy.

She glared at the ruins, as if it had offended her delicate sensibilities. Suddenly, it wasn't a ruin anymore. Like magic (_oh the irony of the word! _she thought as she tried to recover from her shock), a woman appeared by the car, a broom in her hand, a smile on her face. Walter, who was already standing outside the car, moved to open the door for Sir Arthur Hellsing and his daughter.

"You must be Miss Integra Hellsing," the woman greeted her. "And Sir Arthur Hellsing," she addressed her father, "and Mr Walter Dolnez, I presume," she inclined her head at the slightly amused Walter. "Welcome to our school. My name is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, amongst other things."

Integra muttered her greeting politely, as she was taught. It wouldn't do for her to look uncouth and uneducated. She might not like the idea of going to school here, but she wouldn't besmirch her family name by being uncivilised either.

Soon, they were driving up a gravelly path towards the castle, with Professor McGonagall pointing the way ("Oh, it's been a while since I've rode in a muggle car"). They drove past a lake, watched the hills undulate lazily along the way. Soon they arrived in front of the great castle, grander up close than when she saw it from afar. They piled out of the car and she couldn't help but gasp when small long-eared, large-eyed creatures popped out of thin air collecting her luggage and disappearing as quick as they arrived. She couldn't help but notice that the car disappeared along with them.

"Ah, don't mind those house elves," Professor McGonagall. "They're so very excited every start of the school year. Your car will be washed and cleaned and returned to you safely, Sir Arthur, Mr Dolnez. Never fear."

"I trust your hospitality, Professor," Walter replied.

"Now, please come with me, we have a lot to do today. Getting you sorted, finding you a room and some roommates, your schedules. Oh what a busy day ahead. I'm only sorry that you missed the Welcoming Feast, Miss Hellsing."


	3. Chapter 3

**November 1987**

_Two months into her first year, Integra learnt that she was indeed magicless. _

She had always sat towards the back in Transfiguration class, where she could watch row after row of her friends—yearmates, really—achieve what seemed unthinkable at first. A matchstick into a needle into an embroidery hoop. A pretty glass vessel in place of a small rodent. Not all of them achieved perfect transfiguration at first try; some couldn't even manage after a dozen. But ultimately, be it in a day or in a month, they would all succeed.

Her inability to change one thing into another didn't exempt her from attending the class altogether, of course. As Professor McGonagall had put it ever so succinctly, Transfiguration was more than just practice. Integra had only begun to learn just how much theory went into a single flick of a wand. Why wands needed to be held just so, before going sideways and over, instead of around; or the mindwork that went into visualising certain things.

So that was how all of it was. She went to all the classes, tried not to stare at anything for too long, and applied herself to writing. Which wasn't so bad, really, remembering how her home tutor was a very hard taskmaster. If only they would let her write with pens and proper paper, though, instead of quills that snag constantly on the coarse surface of her parchments. (she tried not to glare at the girl sitting next to her who caste a quick parchment-stilling charm to keep the pages from curling ever inwards).

* * *

_Two months into her first year, she learnt to appreciate the calm studiousness of Ravenclaw tower._

Her father had forwarded a letter from Elizabeth—who must no longer be called Lizzy upon pain of death—using a newly acquired owl. It was a short letter, less than a dozen sentences written as if on the run; messy nigh-on-unreadable words separated into three sparse paragraphs colliding into one another. She could almost feel the boisterousness of the school her friends went to. The school she would have attended if not for this.

In a way, she felt relief. Hindsight was a very wonderful thing, wasn't it. Now, she wasn't so sure she would survive something so boisterous and carefree as the school Elizabeth described. Looking around the quiet common room, heads bowed diligently over projects and essays, Integra frowned. "We spent whole nights staying up and gossipping," Elizabeth had wrote. "Extremely fun. Wish you were here."

It's only the second month of school, but Elizabeth and Mary had managed to have late night parties, then skipping morning classes to go to a nearby fête, earning them what sounded like detention until they beget children. It also seemed that everyone knew everyone else's secret in that school.

Later, when Integra shared her letter with Augusta, her roommate (curious—in a harmless way—to know what muggles wrote in their letters), Integra thought she saw a flash of horror. When she asked what was wrong, Augusta stared at her in disbelief, blinked once and then another time, looking very much like an owl, before scoffing, "I can't see what's more wrong than a school full of Gryffindors." Augusta huffed one more time before returning to her night reading.

"Dear Father," Integra would write the next day. "You would recall my whining about being sorted together with the 'bookworms'_. _You're quite right, after all. I would like to revise my assessment of my esteemed dormmates. I think they're quite nice for leaving me well enough alone and minding their own business."

* * *

_Two months into her first year, Integra realized how she had gravitated towards two muggleborn Hufflepuffs._

As far as Integra could figure out, all Ravenclaws shared all of their classes with Hufflepuffs. It had always been that way, a tradition that went back ages. Therefore, traditionally too, Gryffindors would share all their classes with Syltherins. Which she thought was odd and unhealthy. The rivalry between the two Houses were entirely too well-documented, entirely too bitter, she wondered why everyone insisted upon upholding tradition. It didn't seem worth it.

Then again, what could she say? This was, after all, the wizarding world. So advanced in terms of harnessing the forces of individual cores and alchemy and nature, that it persevered pig-headedly in the past. Before Hogwarts, anything she knew about 'medieval' were from books. Now she was living it, quills and all.

And, despite her dislike for stubborn adherence to tradition and all things obsolete, she was quite content spending classes with Hufflepuffs. Moreover, out of everyone at school, she felt most at ease with Edwina-call-me-Winny and Quentin, both muggleborn and prone to forgetting that they could complete chores _with_ magic. Coming inside from herbology or from a day outdoors, the three of them often lagged behind the others as they searched for soaps and clean rags and mops, forgetting that they could simply charm grime and dirt away.

Integra often wondered, especially during Charms and Transfiguration, if Winny and Quentin would one day get used to being magical. As she watched Quentin becoming more and more proficient in casting certain charms and Penny becoming adept at transfiguring one thing into another, she wondered if the Queen would send another poor non-magical sod to accompany her through seven years of schooling.


	4. Chapter 4

**December 1987**

Christmas season at Hogwarts was everything Integra had expected, a season bogged down by magic. Everything magical, it seemed, thrived during this season. Students of all ages practiced levitated every scrap of tinsel, charmed every bit of their gift (to give a personal touch, of course, Augusta explained), transfigured the hell out of their presents. The venerable army of house elves, Integra suspected, would've worn themselves to magical exhaustion by the end of Christmas hols producing day after day of feasts, culminating with the extravagant Christmas Feast itself; then cleaning a mountain of debris afterward.

Soon it was time to leave for home, though not all students shared her excitement at the prospect. Some were too reluctant to leave the library, and almost all OWLs and NEWTs students had elected to stay. One or two students would only spend a few days with their family, returning to Hogwarts on Boxing Day. A handful more would spend half of the holidays home, and the rest back at the castle. Some couldn't even be bothered, becoming rather defensive as they told her they really weren't keen on being anywhere else.

Integra also found that whilst Quentin had left a day early, Winny had decided to stay back because she wasn't so sure her family was ready to accept her yet. Her parents were afraid of her. Winny blamed it on her magic. Her first accidental magic occurred when she was eight. At first, her parents blamed it on freak accidents: a build-up of static in the air, gas leakage, and any other reasons within the realm of physics. Then, they began suspecting the supernatural and the paranormal. A priest had been called once, to exorcise evil spirits.

They never suspected their only daughter, and Winny hid her abilities as much she could. Until one day an owl arrived, followed by a Hogwarts staff a few days later. In fairness, Winny's folk weren't of the cruel sort. They didn't immediately shun her, but things did change quite a bit. The months leading up to the first of September were rather horrible. Not unbearably horrid, but it was agonizing all the same. Everyone were stepping on eggshells around everyone else, nobody knew what to do. Winny knew they loved her still, but she knew they needed time. Integra hoped that Winny's parents would fetch her home for the holidays.

Much as she loathed to leave Winny back at the castle, Integra also found that she was selfish enough to leave. So when the day arrived, after hugging Winny tightly and shedding not a few tears of hope, Integra turned and left for Hogsmeade. This would be her first Hogwarts train ride. She had heard stories about the train ride, of course. Her first year friends had not neglected to tell her every little detail, from the platform at King's Cross, to the texture of half-warm pumpkin pasties. And as she took her seat by the window, next to Augusta and across from Penelope, she wondered what it would be like to walk through walls like a ghost.

* * *

Turned out she couldn't. The platform wall couldn't possibly know she was a Hogwarts student. All it knew was her innate muggleness, and that she possessed not one whit of magic. Three months of being surrounded by all things magic, and not one magical dust clung to her enough to save her from being bruised. _Running into a brick wall, indeed_, she stared at the platform wall in disdain. The words "Platform 9 3/4" mocked her quietly from above.

She stared at the wall in front of her, the only thing separating her from her father on the 'muggle side'. There must be a way to exit this 'wizarding side' without having to do something so daft as crashing into solid walls.

"Hello there," someone greeted her. She jumped aside to let whoever it was pass. Yet another one who would step through the wall, unintentionally insulting her. (yes, petty, she knew, blaming people for being magical; almost as bad as Winny's parents. But she was so close to her father, with only a stupid wall separating her).

She stepped aside some more, giving whoever it was more room. But instead of stepping through the wall, he stood in front of her. "Integra Hellsing? Ravenclaw firstie?"

She looked up and saw red hair most of all. She caught the prefect badge glinting under weak platform lights. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry I'm late. William Weasley at your service," the boy offered his hand, which she stared at. "I'm supposed to help you walk through the wall?" William Weasley tilted his head sideways a bit. "Did no one tell you?"

"Aren't you Gryffindor, though?" she asked, wincing inwardly for sounding so much like Augusta.

"I understand that you'd probably be more at ease with Lea," William Weasley said, mentioning the Ravenclaw prefect. "But, I'm better at this sort of thing." At Integra's puzzled look, he continued, "You know, like leading the magicless through a magic wall. I'm very good at charms and stuff like that. I can even help heal that bruise on your arm if you want."

Integra looked down at the coin-sized bruise, then at William Weasley's still-outstretched hand. "It's nothing," she said.

* * *

Walking through a wall was an overrated thing. "That... wasn't pleasant. At all," she groused. "But, thank you, Mr. Weasley."

"Not at all," he replied, with the requisite "And call me Bill, Mr. Weasley is my father" rejoinder. "It can't be pleasant, really, especially since you're quite unaccustomed having magic inside your own self, temporary though it is..."

Integra lent a polite ear at Bill Weasley's magical theories of how too much borrowed magic could make muggles ill, and the mechanics of magical modes of transportation to muggles. Truth be told, she couldn't care one jot about it. She craned her neck, trying to spot her father, or Walter, or any of those familiar faces she missed so much.

A warm flash of familiarity, and she's off to the other side of the station, leaving an oblivious Bill still reciting theories into thin air.


	5. Chapter 5

**September 1988**

The previous year felt almost like a gap year to Integra. She'd never really been on a proper gap year before, of course. But from what she was able to glean from the staff whispering stories about their children's experiences, Integra thought that it wasn't so different after all. Hadn't she just spent a year learning about a brand new culture? Did she not spend a year making new friends from odd backgrounds, homestaying (well, it was close, wasn't it?), generally learning about seemingly important things that meant absolutely nothing in the long run?

But that was the old year gone by. Any little hope she harboured of returning to her daily grind _before_ Hogwarts was dashed, for she found herself sitting in the Great Hall once more, witnessing the Sorting ceremony (which she missed last year and which she vowed to miss again next year and until which time she would be allowed to leave Hogwarts).

"Isn't this the most boring thing ever organized?" Penelope Clearwater asked. She, like most of the Ravenclaws wished they were somewhere else where their time could be better spent. Like in the library. Or one of those study carrels. The Hufflepuffs, Integra noted, were good-naturedly bored, as they smiled quite sincerely even though their eyes looked glazed over. The one thing that gladdened Integra's heart was Winny's sunny demeanor, quite a change from the dark sullenness she sported following Christmas hols. She must've made up with her family over the summer. Integra made a mental note to ask. Quentin looked happy, too. But then again, the boy couldn't be anything but.

At the end of the day, a Ravenclaw swot would finally announce how The Sorting of 1988 was, statistically, the longest in 150 years. But for now, the Slytherins hissed to make their disdain known, and the Gryffindors were groaning like a pack of underfed lions.

* * *

"You don't seem to like it here," Augusta said in the middle of rushing through a chapter of homework. The prefects will be by soon, checking up on them and turning off the lights.

"It's not that I don't like it here," Integra replied as she climbed onto her bed. "It's just..." For a while, Integra lost her train of thought as she watched Penelope's charmed hair brush went about its daily 100 strokes, even as the owner was catching up on her reading. "Weird, I suppose," Integra settled.

"Do you think there will be another muggle like you this year?" Penelope asked, as she cast a bookmarking charm on her heavy tome.

"I honestly don't know. It would be nice, though."

"Wouldn't it just?" a voice floated over from the door, belonging to Lea Fairfield. Her "time for lights out, little chicks" was greeted by groans, not so much for being called 'little', but more for their being deprived of last-minute swotting.

* * *

In the dark (with only a small _lumos_ ball as reprieve) they settled on telling stories of their summer adventures. Augusta was keen on learning about muggles, as she was thinking of taking Muggle Studies by third year. She regaled them on stories about growing up in a bourgeois household, with an aspiration to be more.

"You mean, like netting a Malfoy?" Penelope asked, her distaste clear even in the darkness.

"I haven't thought about that," Augusta replied defensively. "I want to make a name for myself first, though."

"That will definitely scare away all members of nobility," Penelope scoffed. "They don't want some headstrong chit, I'm sure. Someone more of a trophy wife would be much preferable, won't it?"

"All this talk about marrying sounds rather surreal, don't you think?" Integra piped up, sensing an _ad hominem _debate looming in the not-so-distant horizon, as was wont to happen when these two started to bicker.

"Don't you?"

"For that, you'd need a member of the opposite sex," Integra pointed out. "And not an imaginary one either, noble or otherwise."

"_Pah!_" Penelope scoffed. "Easy for you to say. You must have a million suitors lining up already. Seeing that you're of a noble house yourself."

"A baronetcy isn't nobility. It isn't a peerage of any sort," Integra corrected.

"Well, didn't change the fact that you'd be _titled_," Penelope replied.

"Doesn't mean one jot in the grand scheme of the wizarding world, though, does it?" Integra parried. Penelope had this knack of finding reasons to be dissatisfied about most things she could think of. She often lamented about being a half-blood but living an entirely pedestrian muggle lifestyle, she was often mistaken as a muggleborn. Then, she would lament about her mother being the most ordinary kind of witch, neither titled, influential, nor emerging from any family with an illustrious history (either famous or infamous).

Integra had heard someone said once (rather contemptuously, too, in fact), that it was only Penelope's phenomenal brain and academic brilliance that clouded her Slytherin-like ambition from the Hat.

As she turned to her other side, trying to find the right spot to doze off for the night, she couldn't help but wonder what's so bad about Slytherin anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**December 1988  
**

She had prepared herself for this year's christmas season, for the unending christmas puddings and bottomless mulled wine smuggled in by a few daring dormmates. In fact, it was the only daring thing a Ravenclaw would do, once they had sufficiently tore themselves away from their Book of the Week. Much less tame than any other house's festive celebrations.

Even the Hufflepuffs. Or rather, especially the Hufflepuffs. For some reason, one of them managed to get their hands on a book containing some of the most amusing holiday season pranks over the ages. "Compiled by some one with a lot of free time on their hands," Penelope surmised, sounding a bit jealous. If anyone ought to stumble on some interesting tome, shouldn't it be some Ravenclaw? They practically lived in the library anyway.

And to be one-upped by a bunch of Hufflepuffs no less.

Integra found it extremely amusing, seeing Hufflepuffs playing pranks on everyone. Their genial humour tampered what she came to know as Vicious Holiday Season rivalry between lions and snakes. The same prank by a lion against a snake would cause a small country to spontaneously combust. But since it was a "bloody badger" who did it, everyone seemed to merely smile deprecatingly, wrily, as they picked themselves up from the floor, dusted themselves off, and went on their way.

Or maybe it was a matter of House pride. Hufflepuff was often the perennial loser, anyway. The good-natured underdog who smiled even when they were hit by lightning.

* * *

A lot of good news came out from Hufflepuffs this year, it seemed. At least to Integra. Maybe because she had close Hufflepuff friends, she'd muse later on. But it didn't change the fact that she could find reasons to smile whenever she's around one of those badgers.

One of the best news came from Winny. This year she would not be left back at Hogwarts over christmas hols. In fact, she'd be leaving _two_ days early! Her parents would be picking her up from school. They had booked themselves on a trip to... somewhere. Integra wasn't sure where. It was lost in all Winny's excited twittering.

The girl had yet to stop her monologue. It had cost her House more than a boatful of points in Potions, and cost her roommates a night's good sleep.

Yet, Integra thought as she walked towards her dormitory from her last class of the day, all in all, 1988 was good vintage not only for wine, but also for inter-house relationships here at Hogwarts.

* * *

All good things must come back down to earth, some time. And christmas cheer could only be joyful to a certain extent, especially with a certain Potions Master in residence. And this year, he seemed to be in a very bad mood.

Rounding off a corner, Integra heard him conversing with Professor McGonagall. Not conversing exactly, she corrected herself. More like complaining. Making his displeasure known .

And like any self-respecting Ravenclaw, she hung around, eavesdropping. Information, after all, was highly valuable in any form.

"...he had to come and throw a party!"

"Now now, Severus. He has always thrown a Christmas party. I can't remember a time he hasn't. You can hardly blame him. The poor man just lost his home. And what about all the guests he's invited?"

"He could uninvite them! And blame him? Why should I?" Professor Snape snorted. "How could he blow up his own house over a simple potion that even my most dunderheaded fourth year could do? What kind of potions master is that, I ask you?"

"The kind that taught you potions all those years ago."

"I think _not_!" he growled. "_I_ taught myself potions. Then my various Masters at the Institute."

"Nevertheless," Professor McGonagall continued. "Horace's christmas party is still going to be held, whether you approve of it or not."

"Well," Professor Snape exhaled rather noisily. "I suppose, I will take comfort on the fact that he won't be throwing a New Year's Party, too."

"You take it anyway you want, Severus," Professor McGonagall said soothingly.

* * *

By the time Horace Slughorn's christmas party came around, Winny had already left for hols.

To the best of her knowledge, none of her yearmates were invited to the party, or any student of Hogwarts it seemed. Except for the Head Boy, Head Girl and the prefects.

Passing by the room where the party was held, she could almost understand Professor Snape's disdain. It was loud, entirely too boisterous. Who knew grown-up witches and wizards could be so banal, she thought.

Further down the corridor, she was waylaid by two men. One of them held a bottle of something-possibly alcohol of an acceptable vintage-in one hand. The other man, slightly taller, stood slightly back, a bit deeper into the shadows.

"Excuse me," the man with the bottle greeted her, free hand slightly outstretched, an apologetic smile looked like a harmless grimace on his face. "Do you know..."

"Follow the noise," Integra cut in, almost brusquely, pointing down the corridor. Her father would be appalled at her lack of manners, but she thought she wasn't feeling too well.

The man looked startled a bit, caught mid-question, but brushed off Integra's apparent lack of lady-like manners aside like it was nothing. Most likely, he didn't even notice. Children would be children after all. "Thank you, dear," the man said to her, bowing slightly like a person of good wizardly standing.

She stepped aside to give them room, but the taller man stopped to stand in front of her. He looked down at her from a great height, and she could see his eyes narrowing. She couldn't tell what colour his eyes were, as much as she couldn't tell what made her suddenly very anxious.

The man seemed to examine her for a bit and Integra fidgeted nervously. If this man, possibly a wizard, were to do something bad to her, she wouldn't be able to protect herself at all. She had no guns (Walter had managed to persuade her dear father let her bring a small gun, but only if she promised to keep it tucked safely in her trunk). The small carved wand-like wood tucked inside her robe was purely decorational.

She took an involuntary step back, even as the man straightened his back.

"A Hellsing at Hogwarts, I presume?" the man asked, smiling slightly-and almost like a sordid cliche, he smiled in such a way as to let the moon glint off his teeth. _my, my, but what long sharp teeth you have_, Integra thought suddenly.

"A... vampire at Hogwarts, I presume?" she asked, simultaneously congratulating herself for not stepping back, flinching, or wavering.

* * *

She wasn't sure what happened next, exactly. Nor was she sure how long she had stood riveted to the spot long after the wizard and his vampire had walked away... following the noise to Horace Slughorn's christmas party.

It was only later on at night that she realized the significance of that short encounter.

Sanguini-the name of the vampire, according to one all-knowing Ravenclaw upperclassman-was the first vampire she ever encountered, despite being born into a vampire-hunting family enterprise.

She wasn't quite sure what a Hellsing should do when faced with their first vampire. She knew however, that gaping and standing rooted at the spot would not be considered proper. Possibly slightly more acceptable than immediately fainting or being reduced to a blubbery mess.

Would a young Hellsing shoot their first vampire? Stake it first, shoot later? Take a bloody head and put it as a trophy next to the reindeer's?

She decided to write to her father, instead.


End file.
